Blade in the Night
by Lucius Minucius Pullus
Summary: Lucius Minucius Pullus, an ex-Legion scout, had found himself betrayed and imprisoned by those he once served under. But what he thought would be the rest of his life spent in the Imperial Prison quickly becomes a quest to save all of Tamriel from the jaws of Oblivion.


** Alright, my first fiction on the site. Disclaimer's aside (I claim no ownership of Oblivion or The Elder Scrolls franchise, etc.), I'm going with my usual character of an Imperial thief/assassin type deal. I've always found sneaking to be infinitely more interesting and fun, for some Divines-forsaken-reason. :P**

** Anyway, without further ado, here we go.**

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><p>Lucius Minucius Pullus awoke, cracking a single eye open from where he lay. The Imperial was immediately aware of several things, a dull pain being the most obvious, centered in the crest of his skull.<p>

What happened? That was the question he struggled to answer. The cold, damp atmosphere indicated that he wasn't where he usually slept, though it certainly wasn't the first time he'd been in this sort of atmosphere. Reaching a groggy hand up to test how damaged his head was, he felt no scabbing. So it was blunt damage, then. And it wasn't meant to kill him- a strong swing with even the crudest of maces could split his head open like a melon. No, whatever brought him here, it was meant to keep him alive.

Opening his eyes fully and sitting up to survey the area only cemented in fact what he hoped was just fearful thinking. "Yep. Bars. Lots 'o them. And- oh! The skeletal remains of my predecessor. Lovely." The words left his mouth with more than a bit of sarcasm, scratchy and dry from a lack of water. A quick check over of the tan cup and jug on the little wooden table- the only furniture in his humble abode save for a stool next to aforementioned table- proved to bring forth no Gods-blessed-liquid for him to drink, so he decided that he should probably put that lower on his list of things he needed.

He squinted slightly towards the tiny window which provided the only decently bright light in his cell. He wasn't good at telling the exact hour by the movement of the sun, but he could vaguely guess that it was sometime in the afternoon. The sun rose in the east and set in the west, right? Yes, he was sure of it.

He sat down on the little wooden stool, groaning at the pain in his head as he stared at the wall in thought, trying to remember just what had brought him here. He could remember things about his life, of course. He served in Legion in the Auxiliaries, as part of a small group of scouts. That was what the official papers would say.

Unofficially, they were a bit more than that. The assassins that were an integral part of the Empire's internal intrigue had to come from somewhere, and the Blades were far too ingrained into the overt politics to be used as killers-for-hire. Oh, sure, Lucius had seen real battle before- a scout's life was always a dangerous one- but it was blood gold that had once lined his pockets. Of course, he never really had a say where his knife was thrusted; it was always a matter of 'do it or I'll have you killed for treason' sort of thing. An offer he couldn't refuse, in more ways than one.

But in the end, he had been a Legionnaire first and an unofficial assassin second, and when the corruption really began setting in, juggling his moral code and the work of a hired killer became infinitely more challenging. Now his blade was sent to kill witnesses, whistleblowers, and virtually anyone threatening a corrupt politician's power. It taxed his mind greatly, and eventually he began making... arrangements.

The Imperial scout-assassin generally sympathized with those that his corrupt superiors wanted dead, and decided to make agreements to those that were his targets. They'd leave and start a new life elsewhere, and he'd tell his 'clients' that the victim was dead. His superiors were rightfully suspicious from the lack of physical evidence to this, and it wasn't long before he'd been caught via a mole. Some beggar they'd promise a life of luxury in exchange for having a suspected 'ineffectual' assassin sent after him to see what he'd do. It would've worked out well for them either way- either the beggar would be killed they needn't waste a septim, or they'd catch what they referred to as a traitor and see that he be dealt with.

So... it was being caught by a corrupt Imperial that brought him here? The actual happening of it was muddied and blurred, probably from the blow to his head, but it seemed the most likely. Certainly the only logical thing that came to mind.

Lucius grumbled, not enjoying the sentiment of being disposable. Any gold he had saved up had probably been seized by his ex-clients/superiors. So he had nothing. Not a septim to his name, and not a single person who'd attend his funeral, assuming he'd be given the mercy of being laid to rest.

The Imperial had got sick of staring at the wall, moving instead to stare towards the cell door. Lucius blinked curiously, seeing a pair of glowing red eyes in the cell opposite to his. The eyes of a Dunmer.

Lucius raised himself up from the little wooden seat, striding over to the barred door to have a better look at the mer. "What are you staring at?" He mumbled to the red-eyed elf.

The Dark Elf grinned a sickening grin, finally speaking. "An Imperial in the Imperial Prison... I guess they don't play favorites, huh? Your own kinsmen think you're a piece of human trash. How sad."

Lucius grimaced. He knew of the stereotype painting Dark Elves as racist towards 'outlanders' but this half-mad Dunmer seemed to take it to the next level. A part of the ex-scout almost found it humorous how fitting the red-eyed elf's words were, given Lucius' circumstances. Also- did he say Imperial Prison? They're in the capital, then? When did that happen? The imperial groaned, apprehensive plans to escape before execution effectively squashed by this knowledge.

"S'wit." Lucius muttered spitefully in reply. He didn't know what the word meant, but he knew enough to know it was an insult in the Dunmers' tongue.

"I bet the guards give you 'special' treatment before the end. Oh, that's right. You're going to die in here, Imperial! You're going to die!" The Dark Elf prattled on, "Imperial criminal scum like you give the Empire a bad name, you see. You're an embarrassment. Best if you just... disappeared." He whispered in some sick sort of glee to the Imperial. Lucius was questioning if this mer really was in a state of mind to be making those sort of jabs at him. Of course, the fool had two metal barred doors between him and Lucius, so he had that going for him, at least.

"Gods, you really know how to talk a man's ear off." The Imperial mumbled to the surely-insane Dunmer, glaring half-heartedly at him. Lucius probably would've attempted some sort of attack on the racist pig- which would probably only consist of throwing bones and a cup at him- had the sudden sound of a door opening and closing to his right, with several clanks of armored men coming down the set of stairs he could see to his right.

"Do you hear that?!" The Dunmer squealed in joy. "The guards are coming... for you! He he he he he he!" That laugh was probably one of the most grating things Lucius had ever had the displeasure of hearing.

"And yet the Gods let a nuisance like you continue to breath. Nirn is full of unsolvable mysteries, fetcher." Lucius snarled, shooting off another Dunmer insult which he didn't know the meaning of. Honestly, he'd pay the guards a thousand septims if they let him wring that mad elf's neck. It'd certainly brighten his ever-worsening mood.

Still, the scout-assassin had resigned himself to his fate. Nobody had escaped the Imperial Prison in over forty years, and he highly doubted he'd be the first in that time to do so. He had no close family, and very few friends, none of which he assumed would know if he was executed here as a faceless traitor. And, if it was by beheading, he could at least hope for a quick death before ascending to Aetherius, away from the troubles this world seemed to barrage him with at a constant rate.

"Baurus! Lock that door behind us!" He heard a female voice bark, followed by a muttured agreement and forceful closing of the door. The footsteps resumed, getting closer.

"My sons... they're dead, aren't they?" Said someone who sounded much older. The tone sounded clearly in either mourning or despair. It was hard to say.

"We don't know that, sire, the messenger only said they were attacked." The female voice, spoke again, much softer and clearly trying to lift the older man's spirits. The footsteps were very close now, and Lucius no longer had to strain to hear the conversation.

"No, they're dead. I know it." The older man said, sounding more... somber than mournful or despairing, disproving what Lucius had first guessed. The Imperial flinched and took a step away from the cell door when the voices now became bodies, standing in front of his cell and, oddly enough, they seemed poised to enter. Lucius' confused look was shared by one of the men, who eyed the scout as if to question why he was in the cell.

Lucius noticed something off about almost as soon as he could see the people accompanying those voices. Rather than the armor of the Legion, worn by the Imperial Watch of the capital, he saw armor that he'd only seen in illustrations. The Blades? What on earth would they want with him? Perhaps they thought he was part of a larger conspiracy? Sure, he may have been part of a few assassinations in the past, but none of which were targeted towards the Emperor or his compatriots. He doubted that even the Dark Brotherhood had the stones to try assassinating the single most powerful man on Tamriel. Maybe even on Nirn.

The woman, whose air of authority he decided meant she was the leader, seemed just as confused by his presence as others, though it quickly turned into frustration. "What's this prisoner doing here?" She turned to one of the men, who looked to be of Cyrodiilic descent. "This cell is supposed to be off-limits!"

"Usual mix up with Watch, I-I..." The Imperial she spoke to stammered out a response.

"Never mind, get that gate open." She growled, obviously not in the mood to worry about him. She turned to look at Imperial in prison rags, Lucius, her hand on her katana's hilt. " Stand back, prisoner. We won't hesitate to kill you if you get in our way."

The Imperial ex-scout didn't need to be told twice, backing up until he was against the wall and his hands up to show he was no threat. Still, the confusion ran through his mind, perhaps that Dunmer drove him insane and now he was hallucinating. Lucius wouldn't put it past the little rat.

Lucius' confusion turned into full shock when, as the Blades entered, they were shortly followed by the single most powerful man in Tamriel. A man whose presence made the ex-legionnaire bow his head to the one he was once sworn to serve until the end of his days.

Emperor Uriel Septim VII.

"Y-your majesty!" Lucius almost gave pause. It wasn't everyday he found himself stuttering. But then again, he was talking to the Emperor.

Said Emperor looked up when the words were uttered, blinking as his somber expression melted into something else. His face paled, as if he staring straight at a ghost. The Blades gave confused glances between the two of them before someone finally spoke.

"You..." The Emperor spoke, barely above a whisper. "I've seen you..." Uriel approached, a wave of nervousness and excitement washing over Lucius at being in the Emperor's presence. It was something he never thought to be possible. He must have gone insane. He must have.

As Uriel approached, he looked at Lucius, whose head was bowed. "Let me see your face." He said, raising his hand up as if to do it himself before Lucius heeded the Emperor's words, raising his head to stare into Uriel's sky-blue eyes with his own steel-grey ones.

Uriel seemed shocked, but it was hard to tell. The man was almost a stoic, maintaining at least a slightly calm demeanor. "You are the one from my dreams..." He murmured, setting his jaw and sighing quietly through his nose. "Then the stars were right. And this is the day. Gods give me strength."

Lucius paused for a moment, not any less confused than he was ten minutes ago. "Forgive me, sir, but what's going on?"

Uriel grinned faintly for reasons Lucius wasn't sure of. "Assassin's have attacked my sons, and I am next. My Blades are leading me out of the city along a secret escape route. By chance, the entrance to that escape route leads through your cell." He seemed almost humored by that fact.

Lucius furrowed his brow, wanting to ask more, but the Blades had apparently tired of this pause in their progress, having opened- the wall? Lucius' mouth was agape as the secret escape route was revealed to him; a hole in the brick wall that led down a musky tunnel. The woman gently nudged the Emperor on, Uriel giving an apologetic glance to Lucius before following his Blades.

"Looks like this is your lucky day." One of the Blades, a Redguard, said, smirking to Lucius as he moved to follow his compatriots. "Just stay out of our way."

Lucius watched quietly, sort of numb to the great amount of surprises that were just foisted onto him. Slowly, he leaned in to look down the secret escape, an increasingly large grin on his face. "...What a pleasant surprise."

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><p><strong>I kinda wanted to go on, but I really wanted to get this out and into a chapter before I lost my inspiration. I'll see if I can keep this going without deleting it or losing heart in it! Maybe playing another run through Oblivion will keep my spirits up for this...<strong>

**Either way, reviews are appreciated! Let me know what you guys think!**


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